Stan
by olivetree1
Summary: What was going through Stan's mind when he commited murder? One-shot. R


**In The Bathtub**

**DISCLAIMER: **Although I wrote this fanfic, I don't own Stan, Mike, IT or Patty. If I did, I'd be mega-rich and I certainly wouldn't be writing this crap. The dialogue is taken directly from the book, so that belongs to Stephen King as well.

**A/N:** This is an IT fanfic. It's probably not very good, but I thought I might as well post it. I'm currently working on another one-shot, which will probably be published in the next month or so. Send me a review of this, as I need to know when I'm screwing up. I don't mind flames – if you hated it, let me know. Ok, well, here is my first IT fanfic … enjoy!

* * *

"Yes … sure … thank you." Stan hung up the phone.

IT was back. Mike had said so, and Mike would never lie to him. IT was back, and it was going to get him. Him and all the others. If he went back there, he wouldn't come out alive, he was sure of it. _I could go back there and face IT, like Bill and Ben and Bev will,_ he thought. _Damn it, they're so strong-minded. They'll be on there way back there now, thinking up new ways of defeating IT. But it won't work. It never will. IT's unbeatable. We tried once and failed, and I'm not going back to try again._

Stan stopped, thinking through his options. _I can either go back there and kiss my sorry ass goodbye, or … I could end it now. I could end this whole sorry mess now. Patty will never have to know about IT. Never have to find out what Mike has told me. Never know the difference, so I can just go upstairs and put an end to this … my part, anyway. Yes, that's what I'll do._

'Who was that, Stan?" Patty asked him.

"Hmmm?" He turned to look at her.

"Who was that on the _phone_?"

"No one. No one, really. I think I'll take a bath," he said absently, still lost in his own thoughts

"What, at seven o'clock?"

Stan didn't answer her. _It's the best way, _he comforted himself as he went upstairs. After a moment's pause on the top of the stairs, he turned right into the bathroom.

The sink, bath and toilet were all clean, with new towels hung up on the towel rack. Even in his moment of desperation, he blessed his wife for her neat and tidy ways and reminded himself how much he loved her.

"I'm doing this for her … I'm doing this because I love Patty. I'm doing this to show her how much she means to me … it's better for her this way. This way, she doesn't have to find out what Mike told me … she doesn't have to know about IT. I'm doing this because I love her," he muttered as he closed the door behind him.

He locked the door and put the taps on, still muttering to himself. Opening the cupboard under the sink he found a couple of razors. He put one in the soap dish beside the bath and began to undress. He turned the taps off and stood there for almost a minute, looking at the bottom of the bathtub through the clear water and then at the razor resting innocently by the side of the bath. Downstairs, he could hear the TV as it flickered away in their living room. His brown eyes traveled over the white tiles on the floor and on the wall, and then back to the razor. He shuddered slightly as he thought about what he was going to do, but then forced himself to remember why he had chosen to do it.

_I am NOT going to bottle out now. I chose to do this and now I'm going to do it. Even if I won't … can't go back there, I can still do this. I can still be strong and do this. If a man can't even carry out his own decisions, then what kind of a man is he?_ Stan thought as he lowered himself into the bathtub. _I'll show them … I'll show them that I _can_ be strong, that I _can_ do this._

_They'll respect you for it, Stan_ he told himself. _They'll look at you and think 'Now there was a respectful man. He chose to do something, and he did it.'_

Despite these encouraging, if yet unexpected, thoughts running through his mind, Stan began to sob uncontrollably.

"They won't survive. None of them … they'll all be gone. IT will get them, I know it will …" he whispered to himself as he sat in the bathtub, his hands on his knees and his bent towards the floor. He leant against the sloping back of the bath, still crying at the thought of his childhood friends down in the sewers, with IT … but never knowing where IT was, only that it would be getting closer to them. _And the dead boys will be there,_ Stan thought suddenly. _They'll be there and I won't come out alive …_

Sinking into the depths of his own memories, Stan unconsciously reached for the razor, and it was only when it was right in front of it that he realized what he was doing. He took the razor in his right hand and dipped his left forearm into the water. As he lifted it back out again, he bought the blade of his razor down into his arm, digging into the skin just before his wrist and bringing it back towards him and removing it at the elbow.

"It's for her, for Patty … I love her so much, and this is for her. It's better this way, I promise. I'm sorry Patty, I'm so sorry … but there was no other way. I did it for you, and I'm sorry …" he muttered to himself as the clear water slowly turned a ghastly shade of red. Stan gave a little gasp as he looked down and saw himself in a pool of blood-stained water, but before he could do any more than moan, he was cutting the inside of his right forearm. He leant back against the slope of the bath again as his life slowly drained out of his wrists. "Patty, I love you and I'll always love you, no matter what happens. It was better this way Patty … I'm so sorry, Patty forgive me … please forgive me. But it was the only way," he continued to himself, his voice cracking into a hoarse whisper.

He took his right hand and dipped it painfully into the deep gash on his left arm, soaking his forefinger in warm blood. He raised his hand to the glistening white tiles and slowly drew a diagonal line on them, creating a crooked 'I' on the wall. He returned his hand to his opposite arm, repeating the action, but this time in an even wonkier 'T'.

Before he could take his hand from the tiles, it slipped of its own accord, leaving a line of blood from the bottom of the 'T' to the dark, stained bathwater. Stan took his last breath, wincing in pain as his arms bled into the water, and read what he had written.

"IT," he whispered.


End file.
